


And my love invented all of you

by herkissofshame



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herkissofshame/pseuds/herkissofshame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night is long without companionship. Few in Yharnam are hospitable to a moon-scented foreigner, but those that are have different motives for being so. And should those ambitions collide with the whims of a lonely Hunter, well, it's not solely the Red Moon one has to fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And my love invented all of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeza_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeza_red/gifts).



> The timeline's all smushy (ah, that From ambiguity!), and this bit's tame and exposition-y. As the Red Moon descends, that will change. 
> 
> Ultimately OT3-y in all the most darling & ill-advised ways, poor doomed things. I've taken care not to mention whether our Good Hunter is male, female, or neither at all, although the personality is based on "mine" that roams my headspace.

Alfred was used to being both a part and apart of Yharnam; the dichotomy was as comfortable as smiling when someone who knew his name nonetheless addressed him as “Executioner”. There were many who locked their doors the night of the Hunt, who demonstrated their aggression on the outsiders running the sewers red with spilled blood. While Alfred took care to lend a hand to those foolish enough to seek out the Blood Starved Beast from time to time, he was nonetheless separate from the rituals of the common citizen. The sounds of footsteps just shy of going brisk, of doors being locked and windows lowered - these sounds were far more common to his ears than cheery greetings. He’d lived in Yharnam _a very long while_ \- years and measurements of time seemed very beside the point when the sun had not risen in… again, _a very long while_. But Vileblood prey was thin in this part of the city, as in Old Yharnam. The last time he’d pushed open the vast wooden doors to that burning pile of refuse, he’d been greeted with laughter and the peppering sting of a gatling gun. Apparently now the city was held in the throes of madmen and their unpredictable whims. How strange to have a kinship in beasts, stranger still to embrace it.

Alfred did not plan to live long enough to see himself embrace it. As of late that classic tell - fear of flame - had compelled him to give away pages of fire paper to anyone with a friendly word and lack of Vileblood taint. It was not as it should be. Executioners were the mighty fist of the Church, not the yapping, senseless beasts nipping at Her silver robes. He had envisioned his death as exalted, worthy, something to be told over ale and firelight with the tremulous pitch of a reverent voice - but as the night wore on, once and again he began to worry that his hourglass had already begun to tip. He was young. Henryk had lasted against the madness for _ages_ , so they said, and yet Alfred’s hand trembled as it tended to the soft glow of the candles illuminating his Master’s shrine. The candles tended to topple to the cobblestones more often than not. Crows, perhaps. Or dogs.

The Good Hunter was his one luxury these days, the reliable spot of comfort and human companionship to be found in the ash-laden air so near the Old City. Perhaps it was unorthodox to befriend an outsider so easily, but Alfred had always had an easy way about him, and the Hunter had a mean sense of humor he sorely needed to hear. Alfred could supply the prayers and willing determination, and the Hunter provided a particular degree of lewd horror at how far the city had transformed. "Stupid ruddy _Yharnam Crazy_." The Hunter came but rarely, and the air smelled of sweet incense and almonds and moon when they did, and Alfred could talk on the history he’d learned that foreigners desired, and so they found themselves shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, sharing food and good company. Perhaps they might even talk of the Old City, or the catacombs, or the lost knowledge of Byrgenwerth.

They might speak even of Cainhurst, and what lay within its hidden gates.

But tonight the Hunter seemed distracted. Faded, somehow, lost in another nightmare. It was unusual for the sharp-tongued axe-wielder. Alfred tried to keep good cheer, but the Hunter was a beat or two behind his every reply. At long last, face hidden by a brightly-plumed hat that Alfred did not recognize, the Hunter asked: “The beast scourge, it presents itself differently? In different people?”

“Yes,” Alfred confirmed, glancing at the Hunter. A pale brow greeted him, sweat collecting in the obvious folds of foreign clothing. “For some it starts as -” A glance at the bonfire, then back. Collected, oblivious, blue-silver eyes expectantly waited for his reply. “-- a fear of flames. Others are paranoid - beasts in every alley, no matter if it’s the baker you’ve known all your life. Others who traveled here seeking relief are hit with their formative disease tenfold, the blood ministrations no longer working to cure them of their ailments.”

The Hunter was silent, stirring the coals with the tip of their axe. Alfred was about to retrieve the thread of conversation when the Hunter asked: “Do you know of a way to relieve their suffering? Or a cure?”

So it wasn’t about the Hunter at all, nor Alfred. No Choir here, black fingers reaching, wrenching, _tearing_ . Not that Alfred has suspected it of his friend, but no one really _knew_ these days, did they? When Hunters raided the bodies of dead men for clothing you couldn’t put your faith in a badge and a hat. Dread snaked between the vertebrae of his spine; if not subterfuge for the Choir, then....? “If blood ministration has failed, then I could not say. Why do you ask?”

No one sane left in the city. Just a few not-days ago Eileen the Crow had been by, and even though he had not been able to glimpse her expression through her mask, he had sensed her distaste as she gazed over Logarius’s shrine. “Plenty of respect for the gone,” she’d said, and as he protested she’d turned her back as if daring him. “None for the living. But look then, there’s no one sane to teach you better.”

Alfred stared at the Hunter, willing an answer. “Why do you ask?” he repeated, perhaps a little - Logarius forgive him - sharply.

“No reason,” the Hunter answered, and Alfred was shocked to see the Hunter look away. “No reason at all.”

The Hunter had left a little while after that. Alfred had been planning on doing rounds in the old plaza - there was nearly always someone trying to make it to Oedon’s, and nearly always someone equally anxious to eat them - but despite his best intentions he grabbed a vial of Blue Elixir and followed that lovely stretch of moon-scent that wafted through the air where the Hunter had vanished. A disgrace, surely - deviation from his post was proof of his weakness, he was sure of it - and soon he disgraced himself even more completely by peeling away from the Vileblood woman the Hunter had befriended and left in the protected Chapel in the Lower Cathedral Ward. She had suspected nothing, even as he recognised the glint of metal on the patched dress at her throat. Later, perhaps, for now something strange and unexpected had his only friend under a spell.

It was a precaution only. It was not unheard of for a stray Hemwick crone to find her way into Yharnam. And regardless of Alfred’s intentions - which he felt filing under ‘protective’ rather than anything altogether _base_ \- the streets were dark and unknowable, even as familiar as they were to him by now. What could they be to someone so recently arrived in the city?

The scent of the moon led him to Central Yharnam, when upon climbing a great ladder Alfred recognized the low tones of the Hunter’s voice.

 “--shut the bloody door in my face. As if I hadn’t just taken care of three brick giants in his sodding garden.”

“The people of Yharnam have a… unique way of showing their gratitude for your service,” sounded a second voice. Unfamiliar. Weak. Accent of a foreigner.

 “It’s a special breed of _Yharnam Crazy_. I tell you, Gilbert. Don’t know how you’ve made it this far. There are some about who aren’t that bad-”

 Alfred tensed, learning forward. Would the good Hunter…?

 The ladder was not feeling kind; the Gold Ardeo strapped to his belt slipped from its secures and promptly collided with every rung down, raising a cacophony of clanging rivaled only by the time the fabled Gascoigne had tied a beast to a set of church bells. When at least it had reached ground (and upset several beasts clamoring at the base of the ladder), Alfred winced, muttered several phrases Logarius would have been upset to hear, and peeked over to the alcove to discern if his location had been given away.

The Hunter stared back at him. “Hello, Alfred.”

“Hello.”

"Fancy seeing you on this end of town."

"I… yes. Thought I might-- patrol this way."

"Of course, how kind." The Hunter gestured at the warm expanse of the window. "I've got someone I'd like to introduce you to."

"Your… friend who is suffering?" Unkindly put; Alfred winced as he said it even as he peered into the blackness of the waiting bay window.

"I generally go by Gilbert," replied the weary blackness. “Hunter, who is this?”

As he clamored up the ladder, Alfred waited for his name to be said. Perhaps his title, even; he _was_ very dear to the Hunter. Alfred the Executioner, maybe. Alfred, the Old Hunter. Maybe even Alfred, the Vileblood Hunter. But instead he saw with a mix of curiosity and rising dismay the Hunter’s lips curl back to reveal bright, aggressive teeth grimacing into a smile:

“One of my favorite breeds of Yharnam Crazy. Alfred, this is Gilbert. Gilbert, Alfred.”

 _One of his favorites?_ Had they not met alone several times this... very long evening? If not the sole favorite then...

"I'm always happy to have more company," said Gilbert. He didn't much sound like it.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," said Alfred. He didn't much sound like it, either.

"This is obviously a very good idea," said the Hunter, and this time when the Hunter smiled Alfred was able to count teeth.

There were far too many.


End file.
